


It Starts With A Touch

by IBoatedHere



Category: Turn (TV 2014)
Genre: M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:37:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6809251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IBoatedHere/pseuds/IBoatedHere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with a touch, familiar as anything, and grows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It Starts With A Touch

**Author's Note:**

> Fight me, Craig.

It starts with a touch, familiar as anything, and grows. 

It’s in Washington’s tent. Caleb’s hand on his arm sliding down to his wrist squeezing gently before dropping away. 

Caleb’s never been one to shy away from physical contact in public. He’s been dragging Ben into hugs and slapping the side of his face gently with his hand for as long as he can remember. 

It’s is different.

Washington’s back is turned. No one else is around. It’s just for him.

Ben doesn’t even hear the rest of Washington’s speech. He’s too focused on the feel of Caleb’s hand over the fabric of his jacket and the way his fingers overlapped slightly at his wrist. 

It was too brief. 

He wanted it to last. 

He wanted skin on skin.

He _wants_ Caleb to do it again but let their fingers touch this time. 

 

******

 

Caleb’s hand is on his knee applying steady pressure as he leans around him.

His thumb presses against the seam of his pants directly over a scar he got when he was just a boy. 

Caleb has the same one. 

They both fell out of the tree back home at the sametime. The limb hadn’t been strong enough to support their combined weight. 

They’re a mirror image of each other in more ways than one. 

Caleb drops the book he was reaching for in Ben’s lap and slides his hand off his knee.

“I’m hungry, you want me to bring you back something?”  
What comes out of Ben’s mouth is a jumbled mess of syllables.

Caleb stares at him curiously as Ben clears his throat.

“I’m fine, thank you.”

Caleb nods once and looks him over, gaze lingering on Ben’s knee before he’s out of the tent and Ben starts to breathe again. 

 

*****

 

Ben’s barely dressed; his jacket is draped over the chair and his shirt is on the cot. His hair is still damp and slippery from his morning bath and he can’t get the ribbon to stay securely around the base of his braid. 

Ben tries for a third and fourth time before he gives up, shakes it loose, and starts the whole thing over again.

“That is unbefitting of an officer even if it is going to be tucked beneath a helmet.”

Ben smiles at the voice behind him.

“How long have you been standing there watching me struggle?”

When Ben twists halfway around to see him he catches Caleb’s eyes slowly dragging up his back, his neck, finally meeting his own. 

He blushes but his voice is as calm as even when he says “long enough to start feeling sorry for you.”

“So are you going to come over here and help me or not?”

Caleb groans.

“Like it’s so difficult.”

“It must be if you can’t seem to get it done.”

He puts a hand in the middle of his back and the other on his hip to guide him to the chair. The hand on his back slides up to his shoulder as he sits so Caleb can work on him more comfortably. 

He rakes his fingers through his hair, forehead to the base of his skull; gathering without pulling, combing without tangling. 

His blunt fingernails scratch lightly each time he does it. It makes Ben feel content and sleepy even though he’s just woke up after full, and rare, nights rest.

The tips of his fingers dip into the well of his collarbone as he collects it in one hand and his knuckles bump against his back as he twists it into the braid and secures it with the tie, the ends of it rest far down his back. He could really use a trim. 

He’s about to ask Caleb about it when he puts both his hands on his shoulders; calloused palms and fingers against smooth skin. 

His thumbs dig into Ben’s back just below his neck. There’s a knot there filled with the tension he’s been carrying for years and when Caleb’s thumb hits he leans back against him with his head on his chest. 

“You gotta remember to breathe, Tallboy.”

“I’ll try.”

Caleb runs his hands up his neck then back down again and then he’s gone leaving the tent flaps open to the wind. 

 

******

 

“You look terrible.”

Ben looks up from unbuckling his boot. 

“Aren’t you supposed to be my closest friend?”

“You know I am.”

“Then why are you always so awful to me?”

“I’m being honest, there’s a difference.”

“Well honestly you don’t look great either,” he tips his head towards the still warm water in the bowl on his desk. “When was the last time you washed your face?”

Caleb sighs when he sticks his hands in the water. It’s been so cold lately. “What day is it?”

“Disgusting,” Ben mumbles and shakes his foot. He can’t get the last buckle undone and he’s overcome with frustration that reaches far beyond the boot. 

“Settle down.” Caleb kneels in front of him and places a still damp hand on his calf just below the back of his knee and Ben stills. “You’re going to break your foot off with it.” 

He watches as Caleb skillfully separates leather from metal and slides the shoe from his foot. He tosses it behind him but then, at Ben’s disapproving glare, picks it up and lines it neatly beside the other at the base of the cot shaking his head as he does so. “Give it a rest, Major.”

Ben rolls his eyes then Caleb squeezes his hand against his calf and his other skates along his ankle and it feels better than anything Ben can remember. 

Ben’s body feels so much older than it is. 

He suppresses a sigh but he can’t stop his heart from speeding up or his shoulders from slumping or the way his head rolls back when Caleb’s hands roam up and down his lower leg before stopping and moving to the other.

“Caleb.” 

It’s breathy and weak and he’d feel ashamed but he feels too good for it. 

“How.” Caleb stops and clears his throat. When Ben looks down at him he’s looking down at his hands now stilled against Ben’s legs with barely any pressure but it still feels just as wonderful. 

“Caleb?”

Caleb’s on his feet and standing before Ben can lean forward and pull him back down. Get his hands back on him and tell him to press harder. Go further. He wants him to.

Caleb looks to pick up and abandon half a dozen sentence before he settles.

“Have a goodnight, Ben.”

“Yeah, you too,” Ben calls to his back as he slips out. 

 

******

 

“Christ, when was the last time you shaved?”

He hasn’t seen much of Caleb lately. They catch each other in passing. Caleb will hand off something from Culper Jr and then take off again, never telling him where he's headed. 

Ben rubs at his face with his palm. He's been so busy he hasn't even noticed. 

“I figured one of us should have a beard.”

“Mines growing back. Time for that to go. I'm surprised Washington allowed that to happened.”

“Don't know if he's seen it. He's been dealing with Arnold and Lafayette is back.”

Caleb hums and looks like he wants to say more. 

“I'm too tired to do it now.”

“I'll do it for ya.”

“Really?”

“What are friends for?” He's smiling bright and wide and Ben has missed him. 

He collects the soap, tin cup full of water and blade as Ben tries to get comfortable on the stool. 

“Where have you been?” 

Caleb pauses briefly as he lathers the soap and spreads it across Ben's face. Ben takes a deep breath and shuts his eyes. 

“Don't worry about it?”

Ben's eyes fly open and Caleb laughs, rough and scratchy.

“It’s nothing. I don't want you to worry.”

“Why would I worry?” 

Caleb shuts him up by cradling his jaw in his hand and tipping his face how he wants it. The blade drags easily across his skin. Ben wants to reach up and wrap his fingers around Caleb's wrist and squeeze hard enough to leave a bruise. He wants to leave a mark that Caleb can look at when he's off doing whatever he's doing and remember him. Remember that he has someone waiting for him. Someone that cares about him. 

“When was the last time you slept?”

“Don't change the subject.”

“I didn't even know you could grow a beard. When did that happen?”

Ben scowls as Caleb laughs again. The sound drives Ben crazy. He shifts on the stool and Caleb clucks his tongue as a warning. 

Ben lets his eyes slide shut as Caleb’s fingertips press against the back of his neck, his thumb at the hinge of his jaw. “I'm a man now, Caleb.”

“And when did that happen?”

“When you were off doing whatever is you won't tell me about.” 

“I miss all the good things.”

“Stop leaving.” 

“Would you relax? You're making me nervous and I'm the one with the blade to your throat.”

“I trust you,” Ben whispers and through his closed eyes he can feel Caleb's on his. He can hear him swallow and the way his throat works around it. Ben's thighs part further and Caleb steps closer. His fingers go featherlight then press harder and Ben can't stop his lips from parting and the shuddering breath that escapes. 

Suddenly Caleb's hand is gone, there's no heat between Ben's knees and he opens his eyes just in time to catch a clean rag Caleb's hurling at him from across the tent. 

“Should be good, Tallboy,” he says, distractedly as he tidies up the desk, blade and empty cup resting just so. “You like yourself again.”

It takes Ben a moment before he's able to swipe the rag across his face catching the extra soap. 

“Thank you, Caleb.” His voice is soft but incredibly loud in the silence of the tent. 

Caleb stares at him, eyes roaming all over his face before he's stepping forward and reaching out and Ben tips forward on the stool. 

Caleb catches his left earlobe between his thumb and forefinger and Ben has to bite his lip to hold back the moan. 

This is how he dies. 

“Soap,” Caleb says wiping his hand on Ben's shoulder. 

“Thank you.” 

It's all Ben can say as Caleb smiles.

“Get some sleep, Benny, your youthful good looks do nothing if you still look like hell.” 

He steps through the opening of the tent and Ben stands.

He wants to run after him. 

He can see himself following him into the night, illuminated by the dying embers of fires left to smolder out. 

He’d grab him by the wrist, hold him by the jaw, kiss him. 

Instead he sits back down. 

 

******

 

Sometimes the war drags. 

As they wait for intelligence or for Washington to decide exactly what they'll do once Ben's laid out all the options. 

It can be tedious but Caleb's never bored. He's never idle. 

He's leaning back on Ben's cot. The rough fabric of his grey blanket bunches beneath his elbows. He's been throwing stones into a tin cup across the tent for a better part of an hour. He leaned back to make it harder for himself after the first ten minutes and his hit to miss ratio has taken a dive. 

It's the angle. He keeps shifting trying to get it just right. He supports all his weight on one arm- throws, misses, then switches to the other arm and repeats it again with the same results. 

He makes a frustrated noise low in the back of his throat and shifts his hip and Ben's so distracted by the sight and the sound of him his dinner knife (Caleb pulled a plate of meat and potatoes, higher quality than anything that's been in camp for months, out of thin air and dropped it over the reports he had been rereading for the fourth time. Ben looked up at him in confusion and Caleb warned him not to question it then took a heavy seat on his cot) pokes into the thin skin at the base of his thumbnail. 

The sharp pain is shocking and he pulls back with a hiss. He didn't think it was loud enough for Caleb to hear but his boots hit the ground and he's next to him, stones and pebbles falling for from his hand as he reaches for Ben's. 

Ben's cut finger is halfway to his mouth, it's a natural reaction and it's not a severe wound, when Caleb's fingers wrap around his wrist and he lifts it up in front of his face. 

For one brief (terrifying….thrilling) moment Ben thinks Caleb's going to press his lips to his finger. Slide the tip of his tongue along the edge of the cut. It'll sting but God….

“Even behind a desk you can't keep yourself in one piece.” 

“I'm fine.”

“I've heard that from you before.”

“And it's been true.”

“You came back to me with a hole in your shoulder. The only survivor. That's not fine.” 

_He was fine._

The hole in his shoulder was more of an annoyance than anything. 

He barely flinched when the bullet was removed much to the amazement of the doctor and Caleb who was pacing at the foot of the bed. 

He didn't bat an eye when he told him how lucky he was. How this could have gone a different way if the bullet hit him a bit to the left or right. He could have bled out in the woods. Dead before Rogers ever got to him. 

Ben had tipped his uninjured shoulder and Caleb had made a distressed noise and crossed his arms right across his body. 

Talking to Scott bothered him more. 

The pain hit later. Once the adrenaline and anger had worn off. He woke up gasping with it in his tent, pitch black and got all over from the fever and Caleb against his side, his chest, his back, trying to quiet him and yelling for a doctor because he couldn't leave him. He thought he dreamt it. Some kind of fever dream because the thought of Caleb's lips moving along his hairline had seemed so foreign. So crazy. Something that would never happen. But now…

He should have seen this coming. 

Caleb works quickly and efficiently to wrap a bandage around his finger all his focus directed in securing it and making sure it's not too tight. He's soft and quiet and- 

“I think you missed your calling.”

Caleb snorts then does exactly what Ben thought he was going to do. 

He lifts Ben's hand to his mouth and touches his lips to the bandage. 

They're parted just enough for his bottom lip to miss the bandage altogether. 

It's warm, dry, and full and he can barely remember his mother but he thinks she used to kiss scrapes and bruises but that was nothing like this. 

This is something different. 

Caleb doesn't break eye contact, doesn't lift his mouth from his skin until Ben looks away and he curses himself. 

He's looked death in the face more times than he can count but he can't hold the gaze of his best friend. 

He does get his fingers to work. They curl slightly around Caleb's as he lowers Ben's hand slowly to the desk. 

Ben’s mouth is dry and reaches blindly for his glass.

Caleb lies back on the cot and grabs another handful of stones like nothing happened. 

 

*****

 

Caleb's talking Lieutenant Randall. 

He's tall, a little younger than the two of them and handsome. 

They're lit by firelight and even though they're surrounded by other soldiers it looks like they're the only one the other can see. 

Is that how he and Caleb look to others? 

How have they not been caught?

Caleb sways so they're shoulder to shoulder and touches Randalls elbow. His fingers wrap around and press against the inside of his arm. 

Ben watches, horrified and interested, and bites down on the inside of his cheek so hard he tastes blood. 

He can't watch but he can't look away. What if Caleb whispers something then tips his head, walks away, and Randall gives him a few minutes before he follows?

That'll be the worst thing Ben's seen in the war. 

If that happens he won't sleep tonight. He’ll never want Caleb to touch him. He’ll have a hard time speaking to him. He’ll never think of him in the same way. He'll have lost him. 

The thoughts make his stomach turn. He knows he should go. There's always some kind of work to be done or someone to talk to. Caleb might be his best friend, his favorite friend, his most trusted friend but he is not his only friend. He should go find one of them and get his mind off what Caleb and Randall might be doing. 

Caleb looks over at the same time Ben has one foot off the ground to walk away. 

He can see deep brown of his eyes clear as day as they meet his own but he can see them all the time. At night when he closes his eyes, when he dreams, in every young man he's stepped over in a battlefield. Caleb is everywhere. 

Now he whispers something to Randall, let's go of his arm and turns his head back to Ben. He tilts it towards a dark path that leads out of camp to the river then let's go of Randall and starts down it. 

Randall doesn't watch him go. 

Ben waits. 

Caleb's long gone and Randall walks off in the opposite direction. 

He gives it a few more minutes, keeping an eye on the beginning of the path before he starts down it. 

The path is well defined but mostly grown over. 

Ben has to duck beneath low hanging limbs and steps over fallen trees using only the moon to light his way. 

It’s private. No one is going to wander down it or come after them when there are easier routes to get to the river. 

He trips over a rock when he sees Caleb silhouetted by the light with the river as the backdrop. 

Caleb turns around and doesn’t look the least bit surprised that it’s him and not Randall. 

“Graceful.”

“My second home isn’t the woods. I can’t navigate it as well as you.”

“It’s my third. My second is the sea.”

“Ah. I do best in a house with proper lighting.”

“Maybe someday you’ll have that.”

Ben huffs out a laugh and stands beside Caleb with a breath of space between them. Anything beyond the war seems so impossible. 

“Nice night for a walk,” Caleb says. 

“A bit cold for it,” Ben answers back and cups his hands around his mouth to blow hot air into them. 

“Where’s your fancy officer's cloak?”

It’s in his tent. He had all the time in the world to grab it but he spent it making sure Caleb was the only one he’d find out here.

“Forgot it.”

Caleb shakes his head and grabs Ben’s hands between his own and they’re so warm. Caleb is always so warm.

He repositions Ben’s hands so his palms are pressed together and rubs his own hands against the backs of them. His fingers move along each of Ben’s digits to get the circulation going. He strokes up and down a few times and then moves onto the next and it’s enough. His hands feel like they’ve been warmed next to the fire. Caleb could drop his hands right now and they’d never feel cold again. 

Instead he begins to lift them towards his mouth. He gets them half way before Ben speaks.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?”

Ben tips his head and looks at his hands in Caleb’s still suspended between them. 

Caleb's face doesn't change.

“What do you want all this to mean? I don't understand.”

“Really? You're a Yale man, Tallboy. You can't play dumb.” 

“Do you do it so much you don't even notice? Do you do it with everyone?” 

“Who is everyone?”  
“Randall. The Lieutenant you were just talking to.”

“That’s his name? I didn’t even know it.”

“That only makes it worse.”

Caleb smirks and twists their hands so they’re pressed palm to palm. “If I knew it was that easy to get you jealous I’d have done this a lot sooner.”

Ben tries to yank his hand back but Caleb has a firm grip on it. Caleb doesn’t let go but he does stumble forward a bit from the force of it. He catches himself before Ben has to do it for him.

“This isn’t funny, Caleb. This isn’t a game. This is…”

Ben trails off. Men die because of this. Men die for this. 

“Why’d you want me to follow you?”

“Why did you come?”

“I can’t do this?”

Caleb lets his hand go and says “Which part?”

“I don’t know,” Ben snaps, “I have to get back. Someone’s going to wonder where I am.”

He's to the tree line when Caleb speaks. 

“It’s only you. It’s always you.”

Ben pauses for a moment then keeps walking. 

 

*****

 

He emerges off the trail to three guns pointed at him. 

The men recognize him quick enough and he makes a flimsy excuse about needing to clear his head that they let accept and let him through. 

He gets back to his tent and panics for a handful of reasons. 

It's about what Caleb said, what he said to Caleb, if those men catch Caleb coming from the same path and connect the dots. 

He tries to go about his normal routine and get ready to bed. 

He lies in the dark staring at the ceiling until he can't stand it. 

The way to Caleb's tent is burned into his brain. It's muscle memory. He could find it with his eyes closed and he might as well have. Most of the fires have been put out and the camp has gone quiet. There's no witnesses when he slips between the tent flaps. 

Caleb’s sitting on his cot with his elbows on his thighs and his hands clasped together between his knees. His foot stops bouncing when he looks up at Ben. 

“Did they see you come off the path?”

Caleb shakes his head. “Went a different way. Came in through the tree line and slipped in unnoticed. Should probably tell someone our lines are so weak.”

Ben laughs, he can’t help it. He leans on the back of a chair to catch his breath. He laughs hard enough that Caleb stands but looks hesitant to take a step in his direction.

It’s all so ridiculous; him being here, Caleb sitting there, Caleb having the forethought to take a different way back, Ben turning and securing the tent flaps then crossing the small room and standing directly in front of him.

“Ben,” Caleb almost jumps when Ben puts both his hands on his chest and pushes them up to his shoulders then down his arms.

“Shhh,” Ben says softly. His eyes track his hands going down his arms, fingers closing around Caleb’s wrists then down to hold his hands; palm to palm, fingers interlocked.

Caleb’s eyes never leave Ben’s face. 

Ben brings their joined hands up and holds them beneath his chin and finally looks Caleb in the eye.

“I wish you would have said something.”

“I did.”

“To my back.”

“It was easier.” His voice cracks and Ben brings their hands up to his lips. Caleb takes a ragged breath. “I couldn’t look at you and have you tell me no.”

“When have I ever told you no,” then quickly amends, “when have you ever let that stop you?”  
“I don’t want to push you.”

“You’re not.”

He lets go of his hands and puts one of his around the back of Caleb’s neck. His fingers threads through his hair as he angles his forehead down to rest against Caleb’s. His other hands fits around Caleb’s jaw. His newly grown beard tickles his palm and his thumb moves in small circles along his cheek. Caleb’s hands grip tight to his waist.

They breathe the same air for a moment or two and then-

Ben’s ready for the kiss. 

Has been his whole life.

It took distance and death and a war to get them here but here they are. 

It ends with a touch, familiar as anything, and grows.


End file.
